


Comfort Food for Beginners, Part 2: Monkey See, Monkey Do

by squeemonster



Series: Comfort Food [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-23
Updated: 2011-09-23
Packaged: 2017-11-18 11:27:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/560555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squeemonster/pseuds/squeemonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hunt gone wrong, lots of alcohol, existential angst, and banana bread. What more could a demon hunter and a Fallen angel want?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort Food for Beginners, Part 2: Monkey See, Monkey Do

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 of my Comfort Food series. This series is not in chronological order, it's just different scenes from the lives of those in Team Free Will, focusing on the relationship between Dean and Cas. Set after the events of season six, Castiel is now fully human and hunting with the Winchesters. Many thanks again to both [](http://zatnikatel.livejournal.com/profile)[**zatnikatel**](http://zatnikatel.livejournal.com/) and [](http://dizzzylu.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://dizzzylu.livejournal.com/)**dizzzylu** who whipped my writing into readable shape.

 

 

 

It’s been going on three months since Cas Fell from being an angel, God, or whatever the hell he was when he was all juiced up on souls.  And all things considered, Dean’s been pretty impressed with how he’s handled going from near immortal to everyday human.  Sure, there was quite a bit of guilt and angst and man-pain right after the power-down; Cas wouldn’t be an honorary Winchester without that.  But once he got over what an asshole he had become with all those souls souping him up, once he was able to come to terms with killing Balthazar and Bobby’s friend, Eleanor, and endangering the lives of countless others, he actually seemed to slide into this mortal coil fairly easily.  Maybe it was because he’d spent so much time around humans over the past few years.  He had an idea of what to expect day-to-day life to be like… Hell, Cas can find epiphanies in a hole in a sock, so he has no problem finding things to keep him entertained, especially when Dean’s around.  
  
Using the Winchesters as models for learning the ways of the world and how to cope with shit is probably one of the stupider ways for Cas to figure out this whole human thing.  Dean knows that, and knows he should have put a stop to it and sent Cas off to some fucking zen retreat type place to show him the proper way to deal with your inner bullshit.  But to be fair, Dean hadn’t realized just how much Cas had picked up from them until a few days ago.  They’d gone on a hunt, just outside Sioux Falls: a typical, no-frills kind of salt and burn—except the stupid teenager who walked into the abandoned house just as the ghost got riled up stepped into the wrong place at the wrong time, and there was nothing they could do.  Shit like that happens, it’s part of the business.  It sucks, but you’re never going to be able to save them all, you’ll go crazy with guilt if you expect that.  But this was Cas’s first hunt gone wrong as a human.  This was the first time he felt completely helpless, as he watched this poor kid die.  No mojo, no super angel strength to fall back on.  And to top it all off, he’s still learning to deal with all these fucked up emotions that humans have.  Not that he didn’t feel things before, but as Cas had tried to explain to Dean once, it was almost like the emotions were filtered, muting out all the sharp edges and the worst of the intensity.  
  
So, he’s got guilt, he’s facing mortality head-on for the first time, and he’s dealing with the truly shitastic medley of feelings that humans are unlucky enough to get saddled with.  And how does Cas deal with it all?  Exactly the way watching Dean all these years taught him to deal with it: get shitfaced drunk.  What he failed to keep in mind though was that he no longer had the tolerance of an angel.  He went out and landed the closest and sleaziest dive he could find, and before Dean barely had a chance to finish his one bottle of beer Cas had finished two whole pitchers and was halfway through his third.  The poor bastard nearly ended up with alcohol poisoning.  
  
Since they were so close, they gave Bobby a call that night, asking if they could crash there so Cas could puke up everything he’d ever eaten or drank in peace.  Last thing they needed was to have the cops sicced on them just because Cas drank like an angel on shore leave.  Bobby, being Bobby, grumbled and groaned, but of course he gave in and let them crash.  He’s never been able to deny any of them shelter when they need it.  
  
Cas stayed in bed for the next two days, only getting up to piss or puke.  Dean nursed him through that first night, metaphorically holding back his hair while he tossed his cookies into the trash can beside the bed.  He didn’t try talking to him or getting to the bottom of what was really going on with him.  Dean had been through enough of these _fuck-my-life_ beer binges himself to know it’s best to just let the guy puke it out—alcohol, feelings, and all.  The following morning saw him waking up to an empty, cold bed and the stench of vomit and booze.  He was mad at himself for falling asleep, feeling it necessary to keep watch, considering just how drunk Cas was.  When he jumped out of bed he found Cas sprawled on his side in the adjoining bathroom, arms wrapped around the bottom of the toilet as if he were hanging on for dear life.  After waking him up and half carrying him back to bed, Dean decided to let him be to sleep off the rest of the hangover.  
  
He stayed out of Cas’s way that first day, only poking his head around the door every few hours or so to check on him and see if he needed anything.  Every time Dean shuffled back downstairs, Sam would ask if he’d tried talking to Cas yet about why he’d freaked so much over the botched hunt, and every time Dean would say no, that it’s kinda hard to talk to someone when they’re snoring and drooling on your pillow.  Dean was irritated by the constant questions, but deep down he was relieved that Sam seemed to have forgiven Cas for breaking that brain barrier and was actually concerned for the guy.  It had been tense between them those first few weeks after Cas came back into their lives, and Dean had been torn and confused about how to handle Sam’s animosity, let alone how to come to terms with his own feelings.  So, Sam being worried about Cas?  Made one less thing for Dean to have to worry about.  
  
That evening, Dean made Cas get out of bed long enough for him to strip the sheets so he could get the puke smell out of the room.  Cas just curled up in the old rickety recliner in the corner of the bedroom, neither talking nor looking at Dean.  He folded his legs up under himself, laid his head on the arm of the chair, and closed his eyes, but Dean knew he wasn’t sleeping.  He let it go anyway, because it’s not like he wanted to have a _tell-me-all-your-feelings_ moment. God knows, he does whatever he can to avoid those.  So he let Cas stay in his own bubble and went about cleaning up the rest of the room, even going so far as lighting some flowery-scented kind of candle to help with the stale stink in the place.  
  
Cas stayed in his chair until the sheets were dried and put back on the bed, then got up, crawled back in under the covers, and went back to sleep without saying a word.  Dean watched as he did so, stood there staring at the tuft of dark hair peeking out from under the covers, chewing on his bottom lip and wondering if there was something he _should_ be doing.  It’s different when Sammy gets all moody like this—Dean’s been dealing with those moods his whole life, and knows exactly how to pull Sam out of them.  Usually all it takes is getting him pissed-off enough that he forgets to be depressed.    
  
But Cas is a whole other animal, and Dean is still surprised and baffled by him on a daily basis.    
  
It’s not as if he doesn’t know him. Nope, Dean _knows_ Cas—in fact, sometimes he thinks every molecule of his body has known Cas since the day he was born, if not before.  When Cas is near, every inch of Dean’s body thrums with the familiarity and the need for him to be closer, as if each cell can’t get enough oxygen without Cas there to provide it.  But there’s a difference between knowing someone and knowing how they’ll react to things, and that difference has been the catalyst to many an argument, before Cas’s Fall and especially after.    
  
On the one hand, you have a being who’s God-only-knows how old, someone who has seen and experienced more things than any human brain can grasp.  Dean can’t even begin to take a guess on how someone like that can process shit.    
  
On the other hand, that millennia-old being is now experiencing what a fucking nightmare it is to be human sometimes.  Dean says a silent prayer of thanks to God or whothefuckever is responsible for Cas taking on a male vessel at the start of all this, because adding chick mood swings on top of Cas’s regular mood swings?  Yeah, there’s no way they’d survive that.  Plus, there’s also the discovery that Dean really kind of likes having sex with someone who has a dick.  Or at least he likes messing around with Cas’s dick.  Whatever.  
  
The second day at Bobby’s went much the same as the first, except with a lot more of Sam and Bobby bitching at him to do something about his angel.  Fucking Christ, like a guy can’t have a couple down days before people jump all over him.  Yet, Dean knows what Sam says is true—he _is_ avoiding confronting Cas, because Dean’s no good with this emotional shit and he’s afraid once he opens that Pandora’s glass case of emotion, he’ll never be able to close it again.  Best to keep a lid on it and pretend it’s not there until Cas learns to Winchester-up and shove it down far enough to ignore it.    
  
Dean knows this can’t go on, though.  There’s moodiness and feeling sorry for yourself, and then there’s pretending there’s no outside world beyond your bed—and Cas has stayed too long in the latter.  Dean sits on the edge of the bed that evening, his hip nudging where Cas has his knees curled up to his chest, and watches him, trying to decide what to say or do.  Cas has his eyes closed, but Dean can tell by his breathing that he’s awake.  He raises a hand up to brush the hair across Cas’s forehead, then continues to run his fingers through the mussed-up bedhead.  He lowers his hand to cup Cas’s jaw, where he lets his thumb brush against the two-day-old stubble.  Cas still doesn’t open his eyes, but eventually he lets out a soft sigh and nuzzles his face a bit closer into Dean’s palm.  Dean smirks, leans down to kiss Cas’s temple, and whispers, “Tomorrow, your ass is getting out of this bed and taking a shower, because you stink.”  
  
Cas grumbles, turns over to face the opposite wall, and pulls the covers completely over his head.  Big baby.  


  


***************************************************************

  


 

The next morning sees Sam and Bobby waking at the ass-crack of dawn to leave on a hunt three towns over.  Bobby received a call the day before from another hunter about an old lady possibly having a problem with a spirit in her barn, and both Sam and Bobby jumped at the chance to get away from the “Sylvia Plath Retreat Weekend” (Bobby’s words) for a day or two.

Though it’s hard to watch Sam leave for a hunt without him, Dean is relieved to be left alone with his brilliant idea to cheer Cas the fuck up.  Dean would rather make a fool of himself in private than give Sam and Bobby more material to torment him with.

As soon as he sees them both off for their hunt, he goes straight to Bobby’s computer to do some googling.  Dean has never tried baking anything from scratch, but he’s decided today is a good day to experiment, seeing as how he’s got nothing else to be doing but getting Cas feeling better.  He has always been a big believer in the healing powers of some good comfort food.  Sure, he likes to live hard and fast and enjoy his vices, but food is something altogether different for him.  It’s not just a vice, of course—everyone needs it to survive.  But for Dean, food can be a reminder that not everything in life sucks, not everything is hard and cold and ruthless and uncaring.  If it’s something good, something really delicious, it reminds him of when he was a kid.  Before Yellow-Eyes took his innocence away from him, and he had to settle for finding comfort in no-name diners and cans of Chef Boyardee.  It reminds him of a warm, safe home, of his mom, and of being loved.  

Cas needs something homemade, not something made by a stranger and not some batter from a box.  Cas needs to smell something delectable being baked, needs to be wrapped in the aroma of something being made just for him.

Once Dean finds the recipe he wants, he takes a look through Bobby’s cupboards to see if he has all the ingredients.  It doesn’t come as a surprise that the old man’s kitchen lacks in baking supplies, so Dean makes a list of everything he’ll need, grabs the keys to the Impala, and heads out the door.  It’s still early, the sun just barely past the horizon, so it takes a little while for Dean to find an open store.  He drives along the empty streets of the small town, enjoying not feeling rushed or panicking about life-or-death situations, almost letting the Impala guide him until he finds a small little ma-and-pop store open for business bright and early.

He grabs a cart and starts the hunt for items on his shopping list.  A ghost of a smile crosses his lips as he strolls the aisles.  Not even a fucked-up wheel on his cart, listing it to the left and making a straight line near impossible, can keep him from humming to the country music playing on the overhead speakers.  He decides to go ahead and grab a few things for breakfast and lunch as well, if for no other reason than to replenish Bobby’s pantry.  He knows Bobby doesn’t mind them eating him out of the house, but still it’s not right to do so without paying him back for it.  Besides, Dean’s getting hungry, and a big, fried, artery-clogging breakfast will hit the spot.  And maybe he can convince Cas to try some of it.  Since Cas’s return, Dean tried everything he could to get him liking some of his favorite foods, but to Dean’s dismay and horror, Cas’s tastes run similar to Sam’s.  He prefers salads to cheeseburgers, for fuck’s sake.  That is a world of wrong that Dean’s been trying to right, but the only time he’s been able to get Cas to eat anything with a respectable calorie content is when his defenses are down.  If he’s sick, tired, or horny, he’ll devour just about anything Dean puts in his mouth.

He arrives back at Bobby’s starving and ready to make some breakfast for himself and Cas.  His first plan of attack is to get Cas up and showered.  This is easier said than done, though, with Cas still being a little bitch about getting out of bed.  Dean hovers over him and considers his options before stepping into the bathroom, plugging up the drain and turning on the faucet.  If Cas refuses to shower himself, then Dean’s just going to have to dump him in the tub.  Time to play hardball.

He plays around with the water temperature until it’s just hot enough to bite a bit, runs downstairs to grab the bottle of dishwashing liquid (Dean would have been truly shocked and weirded out if he’d been victorious in his search for bubble bath liquid), then heads back up to fill the tub with soap and bubbles.  He spares a second to stare longingly into the tub, wishing it were big enough for two since it’s been way too long since he’s had a good soak, especially with another body slip-sliding against his, but this old tub is barely big enough for one guy, let alone two.

With the water hot and soapy and lapping at the edges of the porcelain, Dean turns off the faucet, reaches under the sink cabinet for wash cloths and towels, and lays them out within reach of the tub.  He steps back into the bedroom, fixes a wary eye on the Cas-filled bed, takes a deep breath, and yells, “Cas!  Get the fuck up now, lazybones!  I won’t ask again.”

He hears a moan and a grumble from under the covers, watches as the lump in the bed moves and shifts a bit, and he waits.  Five seconds turn into thirty turn into sixty, and now he’s more pissed than sympathetic.  He walks to the window, flings open the dreary brown curtains, and raises up the blinds, letting in bright sunshine that spotlights the bed.  Dean then steps up to the edge of the mattress, grabs a corner of the blanket and hauls it, along with the sheet, off of Cas.  He reaches out blindly for the covers, not even bothering to open his eyes to search for them as they’re pulled away.

Dean chuckles, “Cas, dude, you gotta get up.  You can’t stay stuck this pity party forever.”

Cas sighs, squints open his eyes and flinches, the glaring sunshine probably working on giving him a grade-A headache after all this time spent in the dark.  “Who says I can’t stay here forever?  It’s not like my being out there makes any difference.”  He closes his eyes, grabs a pillow and folds it over his head, curling into a fetal position and facing away from the window.

Dean rolls his eyes.  Just his luck he’d get stuck with a former angel who could start his own emo folk band.  “Hey, _I_ say you can’t stay in here forever.  And so does Bobby.  He doesn’t want to be picking up after your sorry ass for the rest of his life.  Besides, if I have to share a bed with you, I pretty much have to insist that you wash yourself.  Have you smelled you lately?”

“Fine then, don’t share a bed with me.  I’m not in the mood to perform sexual acts with you right now, anyway.”   As an afterthought, he adds, “And your snoring is irritating.  Please leave.”  Cas continues to lie there, as if he thinks the conversation is over and he can go back to sleep.  

Dean decides to finally take matters into his own hands and change the playing field.  “Alright, you asked for this.”  He walks around to the other side of the bed, bends over, quickly slides one arm under Cas’s ribs and grabs onto his hip with the other hand, heaving him up and over his shoulder into a fireman’s carry before Cas even has time to react let alone fight back.  He staggers clumsily into the bathroom, using Cas’s sleepy, weakened state as an advantage, and ungraciously drops him into the tub, water sloshing over the edges and getting Dean soaked in the process.  

Cas sputters, “Dean, have you gone insane?!”  He looks up at Dean with heat and fury in his eyes.  He’s so pissed Dean wouldn’t be surprised if his eyes turned black, but at this point he doesn’t give a shit.  If this is what it takes to snap Cas out of this funk, then a little piss and vinegar is worth it for the next little while.

“I’m not the one taking a short cut to the looney bin here.  I’m doing what needs to be done to get my friend back.  Now take those rank clothes off, wash up, and come downstairs.  I’ll have breakfast waiting for you.  And don’t even think about going back to bed without soaping up every inch of yourself.  Bobby has a power-washer and I’m not afraid to use it on you.” He pauses, frowns. “And I don’t snore.”  With that, Dean turns around and walks out of the room, closing the door behind him.  He takes a moment to change into some dry clothes and heads back downstairs to start on breakfast.  


 

***************************************************************

  


 

Forty-five minutes later, Dean is pleased with the breakfast he’s got spread out on the kitchen table:  scrambled eggs, bacon, fried potatoes, sausage gravy with biscuits, and some sliced melon and strawberries (just in case Cas refuses to eat the good stuff).  He’s got a fresh pot of coffee brewed and a pitcher of orange juice as well.  It looks and smells like he’s died and gone to Heaven, except this is better than any Heaven he’s seen thus far.

He glances into Bobby’s den and sees that, at some point, Cas actually made it downstairs and curled up on a couch, staring out the window. He’s pulled on a pair of sweatpants and one of Dean’s favorite Zeppelin t-shirts, and Dean is convinced he did that on purpose, knowing that Dean has a soft, possessive spot for Cas wearing his clothes. Dean makes up a plate of food, pours a cup of coffee, and carries both into the den, setting them on the coffee table in front of the couch.  He parks his ass there beside Cas, but Cas doesn’t acknowledge his presence.

Dean fusses with the hem of his own flannel shirt for a few seconds.  “Hey, I made some breakfast.  S’not gonna win any blue ribbon awards, but I think it’s pretty tasty myself.  I brought you a plate, figure you’re starving by now, and you can’t afford to lose any more weight or else you’re gonna get blown away.  And not in the good way, heh.”

Cas looks at him out of the corner of his eye, and his lip curls up in a barely-there smirk.  Success!  As much as Cas may deny it, Dean knows a sex joke will always get a response out of him.  “I suppose I am quite hungry, though I’m not sure how much of what you’ve got on offer I will be able to swallow.”

“Heh, that’s what—”

“Yes, I know that’s what she said, Dean.”

Cas rolls his eyes and reaches for the plate.  Dean watches as Cas spies the fruit, and when Cas looks up at him in surprise at finding something healthy instead of just fried, fatty foods, Dean smiles and winks.  Cas blushes—honest to God _blushes_ —and singles out a strawberry.  Dean will never get over how a being who has seen pretty much everything there is to see in this universe can blush at something as stupid as a wink, but he’s slowly realizing it’s not the actions that get a rise out of Cas, it’s the fact that it’s Dean doing them.  And that’s a whole can of worms that still scares the fuck out of and exhilarates him, all at the same time.

He watches as Cas munches on the fruit, taking a bite of the eggs and bacon here and there.  Cas glances up at him.  “Why are you not eating, Dean?  You’re making me uncomfortable, watching me eat.”

Dean looks away, wiping his mouth and sighing.  “Sorry, dude.  It’s just... I was starting to get worried about you, so it’s good to see you up and about and acting normal again.  Well, normal for you, at least.  And I ate while I was cooking, so I’m good.  I think I’ll go clean up and start on the bread, though.  You need anything else?”

Cas’s brow furrows.  “Bread?  There’s more food?”

Dean stands up, stretching and yawning.  He really should take a nap once he’s finished cooking and cleaning up.  Playing nursemaid and cook is hard work.  “Yep, I got a craving for some homemade banana bread.  I figured since we’re stuck here a few more days, now’s a good time to play house for a bit.  You ever had banana bread?”

“Dean, all the foods I’ve eaten have been supplied by you or at least eaten in your presence,” Castiel reminds him patiently. “So if I’ve eaten it, you would already know.”

Dean chuckles.  “Yeah, I figured as much.  I think you’ll like it, if it turns out okay.  I’ve never baked before, so maybe it’ll suck.  Recipe looks easy, though.”  He walks to the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder to say, “You should go outside for a bit while I’m doing this.  You need the fresh air, and it’ll probably make you feel better.”

Cas sighs.  “Yes, Dean.”  


 

***************************************************************

  


 

When Cas steps back into the house an hour later, Dean watches him stop in the hallway, close his eyes, and sniff the air.  “Like what you smell?”

Cas opens his eyes and turns his head to look at Dean.  His cheeks are flushed, the sickly pallor having been chased away by his brisk walk outside, and his hair is sticking out in every direction from the autumn wind and chill outside.  It’s a damn pretty picture, and Dean’s dick perks interestedly. “I do find the scent pleasing, yes.  When will the bread be done?”

_Down boy_ , Dean thinks. “Maybe another twenty minutes or so.  You should go sit down on the couch, turn the TV on.  I figured we could watch and pig out on the bread for the afternoon.  You want some more coffee?”  Dean turns to start brewing it up, silently thanking Bobby for finally buying a new coffee pot.  He’d go to Hell and torture another thousand souls before drinking another cup of Folger’s.

“I would prefer a cup of tea, but coffee will suffice,” Cas replies, as he turns to make his way into the den.

Oy. “Aw shit, Cas, I’m sorry.  I meant to get you some tea when I went to the store and I completely forgot.  I’ll get you some next time, I promise.”

Cas looks back, his eyes softening in fondness as they meet Dean’s.  “It’s not a problem, Dean.  I like your coffee.  I always do.”  The air hangs with the weight of what’s not being said, about how it doesn’t matter how the coffee tastes as long as Dean made it, about how Cas will pretty much tolerate anything as long as Dean is there with him.  They both feel it and acknowledge it, staring as they always do at each other, as if the answers to all of the world’s questions are in each other’s eyes.  

Dean sighs, and is the first to look away.  “One cup of joe, coming up.” He turns his back on Cas to begin making the coffee, a shiver making its way up his spine as he feels Cas’s gaze linger on him.  It’s fucking ridiculous how just Cas staring at him can completely wreck him, leave him quivering like a virgin getting her cherry popped on prom night.  If he wasn’t so fucking lost to the addiction already, it would terrify him.  As it is, he can’t get enough.  He knows without a doubt that a lifetime of Cas—his skin, his graceful, capable hands, the way his lips look wrapped around Dean’s cock, how every time Dean gets a whiff of his scent his mouth starts watering, those damn impossibly blue and huge eyes, how fucking incredible it feels to have Cas’s dick buried balls-deep in his ass—will never be enough.

By the time Dean has the kitchen cleaned up, the bread is ready to come out of the oven.  The recipe says to let it cool in the bread pan before putting it on a plate, but Dean is too excited to try it to wait that long.  It falls apart on him a bit as a result, but it smells and looks so good he doesn’t care.  They’re just going to stuff it in their mouths anyways, no need to worry about it winning Top Chef.  He slices it up, and goddammit, the middle is just barely cooked enough to eat, while the outside edges are burnt and hard. He takes care to scrape off some of the worst burnt bits.  Fucking Bobby’s stove, it’s so old it can’t cook evenly to save its life.  

He grabs a bunch of napkins, fists the handles of both mugs in one hand and carries the plate of bread in the other.  He sets everything down on the coffee table in the den and settles himself on the couch.  Cas is curled up on the other end, remote in one hand, flipping through the channels. “Turn it to channel 25,” Dean mumbles as he side-eyes Cas.

Cas continues to stare at the screen.  “I’ve already had it on that channel.  I doubt you’d care for it.  It seemed to be only sad, melodramatic and completely unrealistic movies geared towards making women feel either empowered or as if their lives are not living up to expectations.  Or ‘chick-flick’ movies, as you’re prone to saying.”

Dean sucks on his bottom lip, contemplating whether or not he really wants to reveal yet another soft spot to this man who seems to be just one big soft spot for Dean himself.  “Yeeeah, Cas... that’s kinda my point.  It’s the Lifetime channel.  I thought we might watch it today.”

Cas turns his head towards Dean, his expression dubious.  “I thought that channel’s very existence threatened your masculinity.  Why do you want to watch it?”

Dean sighs and twists his body, folding his right leg underneath him as he stretches his arm along the back of the couch.  He looks at the wall behind Cas, embarrassment keeping him from making eye contact.  “Actually, I kinda like those movies.  Not all the time, just... When I’m feeling really fucked and sorry for myself and my shitty life, sometimes I like to just sit and watch those movies because,  well, no matter how sucky my life is, at least I’m not Nancy McKeon playing some crack addict trying to hide from her abusive ex-boyfriend and recover from her transgender operation while fighting for custody for her kid from her also-abusive ex-husband.  You know?” He shrugs. “So it helps sometimes if I can just take an afternoon of pigging out on good food and sitting in front of the TV, not doing or thinking about jackshit other than how happy I am I’m not that poor sucker on TV.”

Dean can feel Cas’s eyes on him during this speech, but he doesn’t dare look at him until he’s finished.  When he spares a glance in his direction, Cas has the biggest, gummiest grin he’s ever seen on his face.  The skin around his eyes is crinkled and his nose is scrunched up, and it is so fucking adorable it makes Dean want to cry, and take a picture, and kiss that mouth, and beg Cas to smile like that again for him and _only_ for him every day for the rest of his life.  Goddammit, he is in so fucking deep.

He quickly wipes off what he knows must be the sappiest look of adoration any poor fucker has ever worn on his face, doing his best to save what dignity he has left, and gruffly says, “Dude, get that shit-eating grin off your face.  If you squeal all that to Sam, I swear I will kick your ass seven ways from Sunday.”

Cas chuckles.  “I’m sorry, Dean.  I’m just... happy that you chose to share something so private with me.  And amused that you seem to feel that all the trials and pain you have suffered over the years pale in comparison to that of this... _McKeon_ person.”

Dean protests mildly. “Hey, don’t belittle her until you’ve seen some of the crap she has to deal with.  And sometimes it’s not her.  Sometimes it’s Valerie Bertinelli, and oh my God, when she cries it will break your fucking heart.”  

He glances at the TV screen but turns his attention back to Cas when hears a strange noise.  He realizes with shock that the noise is Cas giggling.  “Oh my God, you realize you sound like a twelve-year old girl in pigtails, right?  STOP IT.”  

He rolls his eyes and moves to get up, but Cas reaches for his arm lying along the back of the couch and presses him back down.  He circles his fingers around Dean’s wrist, a feather-light touch chaining him to this spot on the upholstery as surely as any steel or iron ever could.  “I’m sorry, Dean,” he says quietly. “My intention was never to mock or make you regret confessing to me.  I was just surprised and amused that you can find comfort in something as simple as this.  I admit, I’m still… I’m finding it difficult to adapt, and to accept my shortcomings.  When that boy died, I felt such an overpowering moment of helplessness and frustration and terror.” He sighs. “These things can and will happen, and there’s nothing I can do to stop them, nothing I can do to make them right.  I felt worse than useless, and I couldn’t even disappear to gather my thoughts or composure.  I was there, stuck in that moment, with no escape.”

Dean watches him, eyes glued to his face, feeling each flicker of pain that crosses it as if it were his own, as Cas continues. “And it was the first time I realized that if something happened to you, if I lost you, Dean… I don’t have anything to get you back.  No powers, no angel ‘mojo,’ as you say. I don’t even have any favors to call in to my former brethren.  And I feel we’ve only really just found each other, again.  I don’t want to live a life without you in it.”

Cas breaks eye contact with Dean and looks down to the empty space between them, but he doesn’t let go of Dean’s wrist.  Dean uses his free hand to rub his face, tries to think of something to say, anything to make it better, but he knows it’s futile.  This life they live, one day somebody’s gonna bite it.   _Again_.  It may not even be him first; it could just as easily be Sam or Cas.  But it’s gonna happen, and Cas is right, it’s gonna get to a point where there’s not anything any of them can do to bring ’em back.  He stares down at the same empty spot between them that’s captured Cas’s gaze.

The barely-there touch of Cas’s fingers encircling his wrist finally becomes too much with the _not-enough_ contact, so he slowly pulls his hand back enough to entwine his fingers with Cas’s.  He lifts his eyes to stare at their joined hands, sparing a glimpse at Cas, who’s doing the same.  They remain still and silent for a few minutes, content to sit quietly with the gentle hum of voices on the TV in the background.

Dean takes a deep breath and lets it go.  “Cas, all this, all this helplessness and frustration and being scared?  it’s all a part of being human.  It fucking sucks, but that’s how it is.  And yeah, there is gonna come a day when somebody’s going to be gone, but man, that can happen any time, anywhere, anyhow.  It doesn’t take hunting and demons to make living dangerous.  Just getting out of bed is all it takes.  But if you focus on that shit and obsess over it, you’re gonna drive yourself crazy.  The thing about living isn’t to constantly worry about dying.  The point of living is to _live_.  Live every day like it’s your favorite fucking day ever.  Enjoy everything that comes your way, eat what feels good, do what feels good, save the people you can save and don’t beat yourself up over the ones you can’t so much that you’re too busy or distracted to save the next one.  And you know what else you’re supposed to do?  Enjoy it when somebody bakes you a fucking loaf of banana bread.”

Cas sits there listening to his speech.  He doesn’t say anything for several minutes, just stares at whatever dumb movie is on Bobby’s beat-up old TV.  Dean’s beginning to think he didn’t get through to him, or maybe pissed him off, when he feels Cas’s thumb start to slowly stroke the side of his hand.  He watches it and wonders how he could feel so comfortable and relaxed doing something as sappy as sitting here holding hands.  But deep down he knows it’s because it’s Cas’s hand he’s holding.  That makes all the difference for him.

Cas clears his throat.  “So, what’s so special about your banana bread?”  Dean looks up to see Cas watching him with a small smile and affectionate eyes.

Dean grins, grateful to finally change the topic.  “Well, I tried a little something different from what the recipe said.  It didn’t call for any nuts or anything special added to it, but I figure you gotta have at least nuts in banana bread.  But then I thought, ‘Hey, what else goes good with bananas?’ and I remembered how much I love banana splits with chocolate sauce on ’em, so I threw in some chocolate chips, too.”

“Chocolate in bread?  That doesn’t sound very appetizing at all.”  Cas scrunches up his nose doubtfully, and Dean thinks it’s just as fucking cute as it was when he was smiling before.

“Ah, but Cas, that’s another lesson you need to learn.  Chocolate?  Tastes good on pretty much everything.  Remind me to get a bottle of chocolate sauce next time I go to the store.  I will show you things that will blow your mind.”  Dean winks and smirks as he hands Cas a slice of bread.

“Yes, Dean.  I look forward to it all.” Cas takes the slice of bread and settles back against the couch to watch the movie with Dean’s hand curled around the nape of his neck, occasionally playing with his hair.

Cas tells Dean later that night, sweat the only thing between their sated bodies, that this is one of his most favorite fucking days ever, making Dean burst with laughter at hearing the profanity roll so carefully off his tongue. Cussing is a habit of his he doesn't mind so much if Cas copies. He wraps his arms around Cas's back, pulling him onto his chest and resting his chin on top of his head. "I'll keep that in mind for next time, buddy."

  


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